


Lonely Two-Legged Creatures

by Panlock



Series: Origin of Love [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Dirty Talk, Flashback, Frottage, M/M, No Underage Sex, Sibling Incest, Suicidal Ideation, Teenchester, Underage Drinking, Underage role play between two Adults, cursing, getting caught kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2018-12-30 03:23:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12099630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Panlock/pseuds/Panlock
Summary: Two flashbacks and a sequel to Children of the Sun.“I want to ask you something,” Sam exhales and his breath rattles out. Dean is standing between his spread legs and the record skipping in the background sounds like a metronome—all build up and no release.“OK,” Dean agrees slowly. His eyes are darting around his brother’s face, trying to make sense of whatever it is that’s got Sam so jumpy."I want you to kiss me."NOT BETA READ





	1. Authors Note

AUTHORS NOTE:

 

It's like I couldn't help myself and I had to add to my oneshot.  
The first two chapters are a flashback from Part One: Children of the Sun  
The last chapter is a sequel/the morning after the events of Children of the Sun.

I would recommend reading Children of the Sun first. 

 

Special Warnings/Tags relevant to UNDERAGE PAIRINGS/SEX  
During the flashbacks there is NO UNDERAGE SEX BETWEEN THE BROTHERS.  
There is one non-explicit sex scene between Sam and an OMC when they're 17 in Chapter Two.  
There is an underage role-play between adults.

Other tags/warnings: Sibling incest (DUH), dirty talking, frottage, lots of anal fingering, anal sex, cursing, angst, suicidal ideation, come play, and underage drinking.

Rating is EXPLICIT

 

If you come across something that's not in the tags/warnings, please notify me and I will add it.

NOT BETA READ.


	2. I’ll split them right down the middle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flashback to Sam (15) and Dean (19) the first time Sam tries to change things between the brothers. 
> 
> I would recommend reading Children of the Sun first.

Chapter One: I’ll split them right down the middle.

Flashback: Part One  
Rating: Mature

Tags/Warnings: Reference to sibling incest, teenchesters, NO UNDERAGE SEX, cursing, angst, underage drinking

 

iiXoXii

               Sam is fifteen years old and generally angry at the world. He hates how cramped his life feels, hates being smothered by his father like John is an oppressive atmosphere. Some of it can be blamed on hormones, Sam’s blood must be flooded with them considering how hard and fast puberty has hit him. He’s shot up another two inches in a matter of months and his voice is deeper overnight. Sam thinks things used to make more sense, he used to at least enjoy being around Dean.

              Lately, though, he’s been feeling especially sensitive around his older brother. Dean is nineteen and tall; he’s built of lean muscles, hunter prowess and youthful confidence that makes him like the sun. He’s overwhelming in their cramped two-bedroom duplex and anytime his big brother is around Sam’s skin is crawling. He feels annoyed and heated and he doesn’t know why. It’s driving them both crazy.

               Tonight, the boys are left to their own devices because John is on an ammunition run in south-central Texas. Sam expected to have their humble 750 square foot abode to himself, as it was a Saturday night and Dean was usually _preoccupied_ on nights like this. He must have been stood up, though, because there he stands in all his glory wearing frayed boot cut jeans and the thinnest, most beat-up band t-shirt in existence. Irrationally, it makes Sam so angry his head swims.

               The younger teen stalks the perimeter of the living room and stops at one of the two large, tower-like speakers that were left behind by the previous tenants. It was the size of a short refrigerator and too big for the small room, but Dean loved them unconditionally. Sam jumped up and sat on the tower, sitting with his legs spread wide. Steppenwolf’s _Magic Carpet Ride_ plays crisp and loud over the speakers and a few feet away Dean is reading the back of the record sleeve, unaware that Sam has joined him.

               Dean looks up, notices his little brother and smiles bright. It's genuine and beautiful and it makes Sam clench his teeth angrily. “What’s up, Sammy?”

               “It’s Sam,” he corrects sourly and glowers from under his lengthy bangs that he knows Dean hates.

               “Yea, whatever. Want a beer?” He twists around to tear a Budweiser off the plastic six-pack ring and throws the chilled can toward his brother.

               Sam caught it easily and flicked the top to temper the explosive bubbles below. He didn’t drink often, usually just when John was away. Not that his old man cared if Sam was fifteen and killing a six pack with his brother after dinner, but because Sam liked to drink when he was in a good mood and he was rarely in a good mood around his father.

               Which, now, it was a little strange that he felt like drinking tonight. “Why aren’t you out on the town feeding some unexpecting Trollip your best lines?” His tone was acidic.

               Dean doesn’t appear offended, though. He snorts, drags a worse-for-wear beanie bag chair across from the speaker tower, and plops down on it. They sit like that for a few minutes, enjoying cheap beer and a decent sound system.

               “Really, though,” Sam speaks up again after he’s finished his first beer and holds up a hand for his second. “Why aren’t you out tonight?”

               “Why, Sammy? Were you trying to sneak some girls in here?” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively.

               Sam scoffs and looks away, face burning as if he’d been caught when really his idea of a perfect night looks a lot like this, no girls required.

               “Jeez, I’m just messin’ with you, kid.” Dean is sprawled out on the dark green beanie bag chair and it’s nearly obscene. His long legs are spread open and his old denim jeans look soft, delicate even, pulled tight over his thighs. Dean’s shirt is a dark cream, nearly the color of his skin, and it rides up over his mid-drift showing off cut hips. For some reason, while watching his brother tipping back the beer can, Sam wished they were drinking from bottles tonight. “I just felt like hanging out at home with my dorky kid brother, instead of going out.”

               “Oh,” Sam offers quietly and looks down at the can between his legs. He’s half-way through his second beer and regretting it already. He can get a buzz on two beers; it’s embarrassing. “Thanks,” he cringes because that just sounds _lame._ “I mean, I like hanging out with you, too.”

               Dean grunts and drops his head back on the chilled material of the bag. “Sure have a funny way of showing it sometimes, what’s been up your ass lately?” He rests the can against one thigh and watches his little brother fidget across the room.

               Only, Sam isn’t really sure why he’s been so moody lately. It bothers him more than it should, but Sam has always been like a terrier. He likes to figure things out—puzzles, riddles, translations, twist endings—and he’s usually introspective about his own thoughts and feelings. He doesn’t like wading through emotional ambiguity, especially when it has something to do with his brother. “Dunno, maybe it’s this place.” Their latest crash pad was small, and the three Winchesters were constantly on top of one another.

               “Yea, maybe.” Dean doesn’t sound convinced as he eyes his brother. Sam is kicking his feet slightly, bouncing against the cloth-covered speakers in a way that makes Dean’s heart clench. He looks tall like this. The kid just had another growth spurt and Dean suspected that the little shit would be as tall as him pretty soon. He still had some softness around his face, but otherwise Sam looked more and more like a man every day. He was lean around the middle and his tawny muscles were growing more and more firm, chest a little bit wider. Dean shakes his head. “So, you didn’t have any plans tonight, either?”

               “Nah,” the younger teen laughed in a self-deprecating way. “This is nice, though, really.” He held his drink above his head for a second, in a brief, informal cheers toward his brother. He has finished his second beer and now Sam thinks it might be helping him streamline his thoughts. He leans back against the wall, tips his head back, and closes his eyes. He can feel Dean watching him and his hindbrain likes that, likes knowing he has all of Dean Winchesters undivided attention to himself.

               That’s something, isn’t it? Sam frowns. He feels close to something, but no less distressed now that he’s on the trail. The album is over and Sam can hear his brother shift in the grimy beanie bag chair over the light scratch of the record. He can picture it, in his head, what Dean looks like as he drinks from his beer can, lounging like some teen degenerate king of the Outsiders. He imagines Dean is probably warm and wonders what it would feel like to curl up in that beanie bag chair with his brother. Their combined weight would totally collapse the center and they would be wedged together; he’d probably have to wrap his legs around Dean’s just to fit. Sam can almost smell the aftershave on his brother’s neck mixed with a days-worth of sweat and—he opens his eyes and feels sick.

               “Sam?” Dean had been watching, and he noticed the exact moment all the blood drained from his little brother’s face. “What’s wrong, man? Looks like you’re about to puke or something.” He sits up, leaning between his own spread legs in a ridiculous display of flexibility that Sam finds more interesting than he should.

               Sam _feels_ like he’s about to be sick. He wasn’t ready to work out this puzzle, but the cat was out of the bag already. What the fuck was he supposed to do with this bit of information, anyways? “I uh,” he moves as if he’s going to slide off the speaker but it wobbles dangerously and Dean is in front of him in a second, warm hand pressing into his breast bone.

               “Hold on,” Dean warns with a stern but concerned tone that melts Sam’s heart and sends chills down his back simultaneously. “Are you alright?” He tries to angle his face so that he can look his brother in the eye.

               “No, nope.” Sam shakes his head and pinches his eyes shut again, gripping his own knees. The alcohol might have helped him get this far, but it wasn’t doing him any favors now. He wants his brother. He wants Dean to stay in with him every Saturday night and stare at him with that intensity until Sam can’t stand it anymore and he crawls into Dean’s lap and— _Christ._

Dean’s hand is still firm against his chest and Sam can feel one finger against his left nipple through the shirt and it shouldn’t be so distracting. “Just, uh, felt dizzy for a second.” The younger man answers after a long pause. He feels butterflies, honest to God swirls of joy in his gut because his _brother_ is standing between his legs and they’re alone and anything could happen _._ The record is still skipping gently in the background, a counter to Sam’s uneven breathing when he finally looks Dean in the eyes.

               The older hunter frowns at his brother. “You know, if something’s going on you can tell me, right?” His right-hand travels across Sam’s chest to his shoulder, gripping him in a totally fraternal kind of way that’s both unsatisfying and electric.

               Sam wants to laugh, or maybe cry. Maybe it’s just hormones? Maybe it’s been so long since he’s had any friends his own age—like girls, he hasn’t seen a girl outside of the classroom in _months._ “I think I’m going crazy,” is what he says instead.

               Dean grabs him by both shoulders then and pulls Sam forward to examine his face seriously. Sam curls in on himself and pulls his face back, scrunching his neck to keep the inches away from his brother. “Huh,” the older teen grunts with that critical look on his face, eyebrows quirked inquisitively. “Yep, you’re shithouse rat crazy.”

               Sam exhales when his brother pulls back a fraction, but he’s still standing too close, still holding him by the shoulders. “I’m serious, Dean.”

               Dean is grinning and it’s brilliant and it hurts to look at because now Sam see’s something different, something more than he did before. No wonder he had been so angry lately. His body had known before his consciousness had a clue. There are uncharted miles of his brother, his beautiful wonderful brother, that Sam will never be able to touch or have or know and it makes him blindingly furious.

Dean doesn’t see the turbulence in his brother, or he misunderstands it, and continues talking—“You’d have to be a little crazy to be a Winchester. Plus, you know what they say about the crazy one’s in the sack,” he winks knowingly and tries to take his arms away.

               Sam stops him by grabbing a fistful of that skin-colored t-shirt that is just as washing machine-soft as it looked. It feels like it might rip like tissue paper under his fingertips.

               “Sam?” Dean asks carefully and looks down at the fist knotted in his shirt. “What the hell, man? I’m just kidding—”

               “I want to ask you something,” the younger teen exhales and his breath rattles out. Dean is standing between his spread legs and that record skipping in the background sounds like a metronome—all build up and no release. He can feel his brother’s warmth bleeding into his body and Sam squeezes his own thigh to steady himself.

               “OK,” Dean agrees slowly. His eyes are darting around his brother’s face, trying to make sense of whatever it is that’s got Sam so jumpy.

               _Maybe he’ll hit me,_ Sam thinks giddily. That’s what the fuck he needs right now. Dean will clock him in the jaw, or the eye, and tell him that he’s sick and that it will never happen. Sam can already see himself knocked down to the floor, on his back, blinking up at the ceiling with a sore face and all his marbles intact and that will be that. Never one to do things half-assed, Sam looks his brother in the eye. “I want you to kiss me.”

               “What the fuck?” Dean barks and tries to rear back but Sam locks his ankles around his brother’s waist and keeps him close.

               Sam _whines,_ “C’mon, dad’s not home and I won’t tell.” He sounds like a petulant child to his own ears and it makes him wince, but it’s all or nothing. If Dean thinks this is a joke, he won’t beat this sickness out of his little brother and Sam will never recover.

               “What the fuck, Sam.” Dean shouts again and finally, finally, he looks angry. “Do you even hear yourself, man?” He tries to jerk away again but Sam pulls him closer by tightening his legs. “I’m not playing,” Dean warns.

               “Me neither,” Sam arches forward a bit and Dean has to put his hands on his brother’s chest to keep him away.

               “I don’t know where the _fuck_ this is coming from,” Dean growls and shoves Sam up against the wall to separate them. “But you have no clue what you’re even talking about and you need to cut it out, Sam. Do you hear me?” He’s yelling in his brothers face not unlike how their father sometimes yells, and the comparison might be unflattering but _hell._ Dean doesn’t know what else to do.

               Sam is slouching against the wall, barely on top of the speaker anymore and his shirt is bunched up around his collar from where Dean shoved him. He’s wide-eyed and red-faced, clearly in shock from his brother’s outburst or his own omission or maybe both but Dean didn’t hit him.

               Dean steps back and looks at his brother from the side. “Jesus, Sam,” Dean sounds disappointed and tired. That’s not what Sam wanted, at all.  “Fuck it, I’m going out. When I get back this shit—you, you just need to drop it, OK?” He didn’t wait to hear Sam agree before swiping his coat off the sofa and fleeing.

XiiX

               Dean drives around the block and stops the car in an empty parking lot. He’s been drinking and it would be a risk to travel too far from home tonight, but he needed some air. He kills the engine and keeps the battery running so he can still play the radio, a small comfort.

               The Hunter cradles his head against the steering wheel. Blue Oyster Cults _Burnin’ For You_ plays on the radio and Dean can’t breathe. He doesn’t have to look down to know that he’s rock hard in his jeans. Fuck. _Fuck._ He’s hard for his brother, for his baby brother who looked at him with nervous, smoldering eyes, asking— _begging—_ for Dean to kiss him.

               Dean pinched the bridge of his nose hard. It didn’t do anything to quell the rise of lust pumping though his veins. He tried to tell himself that this had come out of nowhere, like he hadn’t been in this same exact place before. He’s a not a stranger in a strange land, though—and that was the problem. “Shit, shit, fuck shit!”

               He thought he kept this thing on a short leash, not even dad had noticed—and he would _know_ if John caught wind of his oldest son’s perversion. Somehow, inexplicitly, Sam had sensed it. His little brother—bright, fantastic, quick as a whip little brother figure it out, _of course he did._ Dean felt like he was going to be sick as he ground the heel of his hand into his crotch, willing his erection to _go away._

It started two months ago, right around the time Sam hit that last growth spurt and Dean found himself watching his brother a little bit more closely. At first Dean didn’t even realize he was doing it, eyes following Sam to the bathroom in the morning. His hair was a mess, usually shirtless, sometimes his sweats were hanging too low. Why was he watching his brother walk around half naked?

               He realized exactly what the fuck he was doing when he started beating off as soon as his brother got into the bathroom for his morning shower. Which, the timing wasn’t that unusual. Alone time was a precious commodity around here and all the Winchesters took their liberties when they had it—but Dean was thinking about Sam when he took himself in hand.

               At first it was just body parts—long legs, lean arms, solid middle, soft hair. Then it was his voice. Dean was adding to his internal collection of spank material each time Sam said something quasi compromising: _give it to me Dean_ (a text book), _it’s too big_ (hand-me-down clothes), or the one that made the older brother choke on his own tongue as he worked a pulled muscle on Sam’s leg— _fuck Dean, that feels so good._ Then, Dean started to wonder what Sam would look like sprawled out naked, or how it would feel to slide between Sam’s legs. From there it wasn’t much of a leap to imagine these things while he lay next to his slumbering, innocent brother and Dean didn’t sleep at all that night. He emptied his stomach in the toilet and stayed on the bathroom floor, terrified. Things had only gotten worse from there, but he hadn’t _done anything._ He couldn’t; he would never. Instead, Dean put distance between them. He avoided his little brother and Sam didn’t seem to mind, as moody as the kid was lately.

               Until tonight, Dean really thought he had this shit under control. It took all his will power to get out of that room before he gave Sam’s cocky ass exactly what he was asking for, and wouldn’t that be something? Give your little brother a night he’ll never forget and then go kill yourself because he’d have to eat a bullet if he ever crossed _that_ line.

               Dean leaned back in the seat and exhaled like he might pass out. His hands were shaking like they had the first time he fired his gun on a hunt at fourteen. Sam is only fifteen. Dean is a monster.


	3. Gonna cut them right in half

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flashback to Sam (17) and Dean (21) at the bonfire. 
> 
> I would recommend reading Children of the Sun first.

Chapter Two: Gonna cut them right in half

Flashback: Part Two  
Rating: Explicit

Tags/Warnings: Reference to sibling incest, teenchesters, non-explicit sex scene between two 17 years olds, cursing, angst, underage drinking, suicidal ideation

 

iiXoXii

 

               It’s not like Sam didn’t try to drop it. He tried everything he could think of, short of talking to someone. It’s been two years and Sam kept telling himself that he was going to grow out of these feelings. He convinced himself that it was some weird by-product of their life style. The brothers lived like sardines cramped into their father’s back pocket, no room to breathe or grow apart. In the past two years he made an effort, though, to build space for himself anyway he could. He started dating and got laid a few times. He had girlfriends—pretty things that reminded him of Dean and some that were nothing like his obnoxious brother—but it didn’t change anything. Tonight, he’s at a party on the beach and one of his classmates, Kyle, has been flirting with him all night. Sam thinks maybe he’s been barking up the wrong tree all this time and why not?

               “Want to go on a walk with me?” Kyle asks with a sly smile and they both know what he means. “Feel free to tell me to fuck off if I’ve got the wrong idea, by the way.” He says it without an ounce of malice, no offense taken.

               “Yea, hold on,” Sam reaches into a cooler and snags a bottle of whiskey. It wasn’t his, but no one was paying attention and he felt like he might need something better than natty lite if he went through with this. He also thinks a drink might make him forget about Dean for a few hours.

               “Good idea,” Kyle waggles his eyebrows and they start walking away from the bon fire and into the darkness, toward another party down the way where no one knows them. Kyle was on the track team; he’s tall and lean, built like Sam but he’s got black hair and dark olive skin. He doesn’t look anything like Dean, and Sam isn’t sure if he likes that or not.

               “I didn’t know you, uh…” Sam fumbles with his words and decides now is a good time to take a mouthful of fireball.

               “That I was into guys?” Kyle finishes for him and Sam nods his head. “I’m an equal opportunity kind of person and you’re hot,” the track runner explains smoothly. Kyle had been accepted to a state University on an athletic scholarship and was, like most of the people out here tonight, celebrating the last few days before he went off to college. “I didn’t know I had a chance with you or I would have tried a long time ago.”

               “Before tonight I didn’t know I was into guys, either.” That’s a damn lie but he couldn’t qualify it with _well, except for my older brother._

               They’ve walked into the dark place between two parties and though they can faintly hear the radio from a few yards away, the ocean waves crashing over the shore are loud and clear.  “Hmm, bi curious straight boy,” Kyle hums like this is his favorite thing in the world.

               “Maybe,” Sam tries to sound cool and aloof as Kyle walks up on him and eyes him up and down. He must look a little skittish, though, because the track runner frowns slightly.

               “We don’t _have_ to do anything,” he says and half his mouth tugs up apologetically, like Sam is the cutest thing in the world and heaven forbid he get himself into a situation he can’t handle.

               Fuck that. Sam _hates_ that. Dean gives him that look, like Sam doesn’t know what he’s talking about, like he’s a kid. Sam could fuck Kyles life up in an instant if he wanted. Sam has killed things scarier than Kyle fucking Whitmore and his pretty smile. “Trust me, you’ll know if I change my mind,” Sam breaths and looks down on Kyles lips. They look a bit like Dean’s, from this angle, in this light. Sam licks his lips and doesn’t try to fool himself anymore.

               The other boy quirks an eyebrow, but accepts Sam’s words and presses in for a kiss. He’s warm and solid against Sam’s skin that’s been chilled by the seashore winds. He smells like men’s deodorant and fireball. His hands are big, a little rough, and so confident on his hip and then around his ass. He’s moving slowly, but firmly and Sam _likes_ that. Kyle isn’t treating him like glass.

               Sam tilts his head and licks at Kyles mouth until the other boy moans and lets him in. From there it’s a frantic hormonal mess. They end up on the ground, rolling in the sand until Kyle gets his hands in Sam’s board shorts and then Sam is sprawled out and moaning into the back of his own hand. He’s going to have sand in his hair for weeks but he really doesn’t care because Kyle knows what he’s doing unlike every girl he’s ever fooled around with in the past. He’s sure and confident, knows exactly how much pressure to use and where to squeeze. It’s over embarrassingly fast for Sam.

               “Shit,” the hunter exhales when he can think again and looks at Kyle like he’s glowing.

               “Yea?” Kyle laughs and kisses Sam’s neck. He’s still hard in his shorts, pressing into Sam’s hip. He’s trying to be a gentleman by not pushing the other teen into more than what he’s ready to do. Sam doesn’t _owe_ him a hand job in return, but it sure would be nice.

               Sam has another idea, though. He turns his face to meet Kyle and kisses him deep and filthy, grabbing the back of his head for more leverage. “Can I blow you?”

               Kyle sputters, clearly not expecting that. “Are you sure?”

               “Yea,” Sam’s voice is several octaves deeper from his own orgasm and he still feels a little high on it, but he’s sure. He wants this. He thinks about doing it to Dean a lot, thinks about Dean doing it for him more. “I’ve never, obviously, so I might be shit at it, but yea. I want to try.” His face is flushed from arousal and embarrassment.

               “Yea, yea…whatever you want, man. Go at it.” Kyle answers amicably and fumbles with the ties over his board shorts. Sam helps pull the material down his thighs and tries to remember everything he’s ever seen in porn or preformed on himself. Kyle doesn’t last much longer than Sam had, all things considered.

                Afterwards they stroll red-faced and giddy into the neighboring party down the beach. They knock shoulders and grin wickedly at each other as they pass the fireball back and forth and Sam is actually enjoying himself. That burning for his brother has been tempered some and he feels light, happy.

               Until Kyle grabs him by the arm and yanks Sam back a step, “hey, isn’t that your brother?”

               The smile on Sam’s face slips off like it was never there as he jerks his head in the direction of Kyles pointed finger. There sits Dean Winchester, leaning against the open bed of a pick-up truck parked next to the bon fire and he’s glaring at Kyle.

               It must be obvious to someone like Dean, the younger Winchester thinks bitterly. Dean has seen enough casual sex up close and personal, he can probably smell it on him from across the beach. He’s got an expression of pure malice on his face, too, and Sam has enough sense to know that Kyle can’t go over there.

               “Should I leave? I feel like I should just leave,” Kyle says without looking at Sam. He’s a bit terrified, if the round-eye look of horror is anything to go by.

                Sam takes a moment to think, _sexy and smart_ because Kyle didn’t need anyone to tell him Dean was a dangerous man. Then, disappointment curdles in his stomach. “Yea, sorry. I didn’t know he would be out here,” Sam steps in front of Kyle to block his brothers line of vision.

               “No, it’s cool. I get it. Just uh, don’t let him jump me or anything?” He’s already walking backwards toward the other party.

               Sam frowns, wants to thank Kyle for a good time or ask him for his phone number or something. It doesn’t seem fair. All he wants is to forget about his brother and when he tries Dean pops up like the ghost of incest-past and fucks the whole thing up. So, naturally, when he whips around to confront his brother Sam is already pissed.

               “Who was that?” Dean starts with the questions as soon as Sam is within earshot. He still looks agitated and unreasonably angry, but at least he isn’t chasing Kyle down.

               Sam squeezes the bottle of whiskey in his hand and is so thankful he grabbed it. “None of your business, Dean.”

               The older Winchester grunts and scowls, clearly unhappy with that answer. “Sit down,” he snaps his finger and makes Sam sit on the open bed of the truck. At the same time Dean jumps up and walks toward a redhead with short cropped hair and a plastic choker around her neck. At first Sam bit his cheek so hard he felt the soft flesh tear, but it quickly became clear that Dean was letting the girl down gently.

               Which, Sam can’t see a good reason for that. The girl, college chick if the university crop top was anything to go by, was all over Dean. Long, tan legs barely covered by frayed jean shorts and curves in the right places—she’s everything Dean considers a good time.

               Because Sam is a masochist and old habits die hard, he imagines what exactly Dean might have been hoping to get out of this woman. He does this any time he’s faced with the reality of another person getting that part of his brother that he’ll never have. Maybe it’s because the experience is still fresh in his head, but Sam’s thoughts immediately go to giving Dean head on the beach.

               His thoughts fly in like snap shots as he watches Dean smile apologetically at the red head who keeps rubbing her legs together. Sam remembers feeling Kyle heavy and warm in his mouth and gripping Kyles thighs and he’s thinking about what Dean would feel like. His brother smiles at the red head one more time and this one is more flirty than apologetic and now Sam’s thinking about _Dean_ going down on _him._  

               He knows that Dean hates it, but god it’s true—Dean has a mouth made for sucking dick. There wasn’t enough whiskey in the world to make Sam forget Dean’s mouth, but he had few options outside of getting plastered. He was still watching his brothers mouth, imagining what it would look like stretched and wet, o-shaped, when Dean turns around and joins Sam on the bed of the truck.

               Dean is saying something and holding a bottle of water between them.

               “What?” Sam blinked, mouth still close to the whiskey bottle. He hadn’t heard a word Dean’s pretty lips said.

               “Jesus, Sam!” Dean growls and wretches the fireball away. It’s nearly empty. “Did that guy get you drunk?”

               Sam scoffs and leans back, nearly falls down, but Dean grabs him by the collar and yanks him closer. “No, he didn’t get me drunk. He got me off. You got me drunk,” he accuses and makes a mess opening the water bottle.

               “What?” Dean snaps and looks at his brother like he grew another head.

                Sam feels the contempt in his brother’s eyes, like Dean wished he didn’t have to deal with his freak of a little brother. The anguish hits him like a sledge hammer to the face and it _hurts._ His vision blurs and he starts choking down sobs before he realizes he’s actually crying.

               “Sammy, what’s wrong?” Dean’s face shifts from an angry snarl to concern. His hand fisted in Sam’s shirt moves to wrap around his neck and Sam’s skin is flushed warm and pink. Sam collapses into his brother’s shoulder and neck and Dean can feel ragged breath rolling out of Sam’s mouth.

               “Fuck, Dean, I’m sorry.” Sam’s face is wet and sticky against his brother’s neck and the alcohol has rushed to his head. “I try so hard but nothing works. I’m sorry.”

               Dean looks up for a split second to see if they’ve caught anyone’s attention, but no one has noticed them. The others are off to the side, nearer the music and drinks and fire. It’s late and most of the people have paired off and are paying them no mind. “Hey, hey, what are you talking about?” He pets Sam’s hair, pulling it back to look his brother in the eye. He saw it then, all over his baby brothers face. He looked wrecked, like he wanted to die and it made Dean’s heart bleed.

               “I’m sorry,” Sam repeats miserably and his lips are tacky from saliva and tears. “I can’t help it. I know you think I’m a freak but I can’t stop thinking about you. I hate it, I hate it so much I’m _sorry._ ”

               Dean doesn’t know what else to say or do so he grabs Sam by the arm and tugs him away from the party and in the direction of the parking lot a few yards down the beach. They stumbled for a few feet until Sam feels like he might throw up, crying too hard and drinking too much, and has to double over just to keep from vomiting.    

               “You don’t,” Sam gasps while holding his own knees, bent in half with his face toward the sand. “Just go back to the party. You don’t have to,” he tried to bat at his brother to make him go away. He didn’t feel nauseous anymore, but he also couldn’t stand to look the other man in the eye just yet. He was too afraid of what he might see there. He teetered forward, shrugging away from Dean’s hold, and sat down in the sand by the shoreline.

               He had just been rolling around in this same sand a few minutes ago and he had been thinking about Dean when he had Kyle’s dick in his mouth. Sam pinched his eyes shut and tried not to cry again as he tucked his face into his own shoulder. He feels stupid and embarrassed, pathetic. “Just go, I’ll walk home.” He wanted to be left alone; he wanted to drown himself in the ocean.

               Dean stands over his brother for a moment and feels like the Earth is spinning out from under his feet. He never forgot that night from two years ago, though they never talked about it again. He assumed Sam wanted to forget it, write it off as some stupid kid bullshit, but there had been times when Dean thought he caught his brother watching him too closely—but no. He was seeing what he wanted to see, or that’s what he had told himself.

               The older hunter sits down next to his brother, sits as close as he dares and their shoulders line up. It’s early August but they’re in Washington state and the wind on the beach is chilly off the coast. The shoreline is black and endless and looking at it gives Dean a cold sense of dread, like that bleakness is inside him always.

               Dean has known since he was nineteen that he’s in love with his little brother. He never thought Sam might feel the same way.

               “Sam,” his voice sounds like he’s been gargling salt.

               “Please don’t,” the younger Winchester doesn’t sound much better. He’s cradling his head over his knees and hiding his face. “I know I’m fucked up, Dean. I don’t need to hear it from you, alright? I swear to god I’ll kill myself if you—” he chokes back another sob but before he can get his lungs working properly Sam is being smashed face-first into his brother’s neck.

               “Don’t you ever say that shit again.” Dean sounds scared, not disgusted or angry when he holds the other in a close embrace.

               Sam gulps, startled to be pressed under his brother’s chin. He can hear Dean’s pulse on his neck and everything in his being is screaming to turn his face just so and run his lips against his brother’s exposed throat. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles again because he doesn’t know what else to say. He feels exhausted.

               “Me too,” Dean returns softly and pulls back just enough to look Sam in the eyes. They’re still so close that Sam can count the freckles under his brother’s green eyes. “You gotta promise me you won’t say stuff like than anymore. No suicide bullshit?”

               Sam flinches at the thought and feels naked under the intense stare from his brother. He had thought about it. When he imagined having his brother any way he could get him…even by force in some unhinged fantasies, killing himself seemed like a better alternative. Living like this…smothered by Dean and simultaneously starving for him…it was only a matter of time. Something had to give. Instead of agreeing to Dean’s demands, Sam looks down and avoids his eyes.

               Terror swung through Dean’s heart like an ice pick and the older hunter knew he made a mistake two years ago. His brother wasn’t confused; Sam was suffering and Dean let him think he was alone in this pain. “Sam, I know, OK? I know how you feel.”

               Sam scoffs, angry and sad in equal measure and pulls away. “Like hell you do.”

               “Listen to me,” he jerks Sam forward by the elbow. “Sam, _I know._ ” He looks into his brother’s eyes defiantly and waits. They never needed many words to communicate everything.

               Sam recognizes the shame, doubt, and heat swirling in his brother’s face. It’s familiar because it’s his own. “Dean?” On some level Sam thinks this might be a trick; maybe Dean is just saying this to make Sam feel better…but no. Sam knows his brothers tells and he isn’t lying.

               “Yea,” Dean answers and he sounds so small. He nods his head once and Sam throws caution to the wind and kisses him on the mouth. Dean is only human, and 21, and at the end of his fucking rope—so he lets it happen just for a moment, just long enough that he’ll remember for the rest of his life what it feels like to have Sam Winchester warm and pressed into him, lips soft and sweet against his own. Then, he gently takes his brother by the wrists and pushes him back, “Sam, stop. We can’t.”

               When Sam opens his eyes, he blinks twice and the confusion on his face would have been endearing if it didn’t break Dean’s heart. “But I thought—”

               “I do, Sammy.” One of Dean’s hands has slipped up his brother’s neck and his fingertips are tangled in Sam’s hair. “Every day, since before you asked me to kiss you the first time.” Now it was Dean’s turn to close his eyes because he was admitting his darkest thoughts to the one person he swore he would protect from these same desires. “I didn’t want you to know.”

               “I didn’t,” Sam whispers as he searches his brother’s face for understanding. They were alike in many ways, but this is where they differed. Dean had known about his own feelings for years and kept it buried, whereas two years ago Sam figured it out and in the same moment asked his brother to kiss him. Now, Dean was still pulling away and Sam didn’t understand why. “You think you made me like this. You think this is your fault.” He sounds surprised, and maybe a little amused. Leave it to Dean to think he was hot enough to inspire a gay incestuous obsession.

               Dean pulls back, startled by the change in tone from his brother. Of course, he assumed this was his fault. Maybe it wasn’t intentional, but Dean had to of influenced his brother in some way. These things don’t crop up out of nowhere. “You’ve always looked up to me and—”

               “Are you kidding me, Dean? I’m not…copying your taste in music or something. Give me some credit here, I know what this is.”

               “Then you know it’s wrong,” Dean snaps loudly, but maybe that’s what they needed to hear. “It’s wrong, Sam,” he repeats more softly. “We can’t…you, you have to see that. You’re my little brother, Sam I—”

               “You’re making excuses,” Sam asserts and stands up, looming over the other. He puts his hands on his hips and standing on the beach, breeze over his face and moonlight over his skin Dean thinks his brother looks other-worldly. “If I thought there was the slightest chance that I could be with you, nothing would stop me. So, what is it Dean?”

               “It’s not that simple,” the older hunter argues weakly and looks away. He’s back to watching the endless black sea in front of them.

               “Yes, it is!”

               “I’m sorry, Sam. You don't understand now, but you will when you're older. You don't deserve this."   _You deserve more than me._ Dean's tone is desolate and it’s clear that this discussion is over.

               Sam clenches his fists and thinks he might cry again. He feels robbed. This is injustice at the highest level. Dean loves him back, but Dean doesn’t think Sam is worth it. Sam isn’t worth the taboo, worth disappointing their father. Dean doesn’t think Sam is worth fighting for. It’s worse than rejection. “You’re a coward.” It’s the last thing they say to each other on the beach before Dean drives them home. Three weeks later Sam leaves for Stanford.


	4. Trying to sew ourselves back together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a sequel and takes place directly after Children of the Sun. I recommend reading it first, as the brothers make direct references to events that occurred within that work  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has a different tone than Children of the Sun, but I hope it's still satisfying.

Chapter Four: Trying to sew ourselves back together  
Present: Part Four

The morning after Sam pushes them over the line, and Dean proves that he doesn't have second thoughts. 

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Dirty talk, cursing, sibling incest (duh), lots of anal fingering, frottage, anal sex, come play, emotional sex, underage role play (no actual underage), not a daddy kink but a get-caught-by-dad kink? Is that a thing?

 

IiXoXii

So we wrapped our arms around each other

Trying to sew ourselves back together

We were making love

Making Love

iiXoXii

  
               They slept with the lights on that night. Maybe after over ten years of willful ignorance, the thought of spending another second in the dark was unbearable, but they tracked each other across the room and into their shared bed. They laid down on their sides, curled facing one another, and talked very little. Dean would have slept with his eyes open if he could.

               As it turned out, he slept only a few hours. Dean never needed much sleep. Quality over quantity was always more important, and he had never slept better. He woke easily, no thoughts of Hell for the first time since he’s been topside, to see Sam’s sleep-gentle face. His brother looked younger like this, no wrinkles of contemplation marring his forehead or guilt-ridden shine to his eyes. Dean wonders how often he put those lines on his brother’s face.

               “Do you always watch your hook ups sleep?” Sam asks suddenly, eyes still shut, and Dean realizes he’s been caught staring. 

               Sam could never be reduced to a _hook up_ and they both know it. “I was just admiring your magnificent bedhead.” Dean felt the overwhelming urge to ruffle his brother’s hair, and kiss the naked knob of his shoulder. He could do both, now.

               Sam huffs a tired laugh and rolls over onto his back, one arm slung above his head. “Sure, and your cowlick is so cool.” His eyes are open and bright, happy, and it makes Dean unreasonably giddy. _He_ is the reason Sam looks like a carefree teenager.

               Dean turns his body closer, unable to help himself, and more or less falls into his brother’s mouth. Sam kisses him like he knew it was coming, and maybe he did. They knew each other inside and out.

               Most of the desperation from last night has bled out of them. Sam isn’t as frantic and Dean has more control. He has enough sense to do what he’s always wanted to do, and make it good for his little brother. Sam should never doubt this again.

               The older hunter groans deep and short right into his brother’s mouth as he pins Sam underneath him. Sam’s body is sleep-warm and relaxed, all that muscle smooth and pliant for Dean to writhe against. Neither of them had dressed from last night, and the nearly hairless softness of Sam’s thighs against his erection is making Dean feel heady and drugged.

               He kisses Sam like he should have that night on the beach. He had replayed it in his head a thousand times. He would have dug his fingers into his brother’s hair and gently pulled Sam’s head back, holding his jaw open just enough that he could press his tongue inside. He would have kissed Sam stupid next to the waves of the Pacific Ocean. That’s what he tries to do now. He kisses Sam deep and slow, like he’s fucking his brothers mouth with his tongue until Sam starts to vibrate and whine underneath him.

               “Fuck, Dean,” Sam sighs and spreads his legs so that the other man fits more comfortably between them. “Your mouth,” he groans and kisses his brother back. 

                Dean remembers Sam admitting that this was his first fantasy; he wanted Dean to pin him down and kiss him until he came in his jeans. Sam had also asked Dean what his first fantasy about them had been, but he hadn't answered last night. He pulls back just enough to separate their lips, though he can still feel his brother's breath against his spit-slick mouth. He remembers what he had thought about first, when he was just sorting out his feelings all those years ago. 

                "What is it?" The younger hunter asks after the other man's long pause. He worries for a second that his brother is having a mental break down, because that had been a concern. "You aren't freaking out, are you?"

                 Dean rolls his eyes up as if he were trying to peer at his own brows and pouts his lips. After a second he adds, "ah, no. Not yet, anyway. I was thinking-"

                 "That explains it," Sam deadpans. 

                 "Shut up," the older brother warns but there's no venom to his voice. "I remember," he adds and now suddenly his green eyes are full of heat. "The first thing I wanted to do to you, I remember."   
           
                  "Tell me," Sam seems fixated on hearing about the longing that went unaddressed between them. He wants to hear that he wasn’t the only freak in the family for once, but it makes Dean feel bashful. Admitting this means he has wanted his brother since before he was even legal—but last night he promised not to deny them this anymore. He wasn't going to hold back anymore.

               “I fantasized about you coming to my bed and begging me,” he confessed into his brother’s throat and bit him there lightly. His own neck was marred purple from Sam’s teeth. “I wanted you to start it, like the first time.” Dean shifts back slightly so that his weight is on his knees on either side of his brother below him.

               “Did I ask you to touch me?” Sam runs his hands up and down Dean’s trim flank and slides his feet across the bed, raising his knees. They’re drifting somewhere between dirty talk and a role play.

               “Yea, you were shy and nervous. I thought about being your first,” his face burns. "I always told you no." He laughs at himself and runs one wide palm over his brother’s knee. "I even tried to hold back in my fantasies.”

                "How did I talk you into it?" Sam asks softly, like he might spook the other. 

                Impossibily, Dean's face goes even redder. "You'd touch yourself and let me watch until I couldn't take it anymore. I thought about jerking off on you,  _fuck."_ Dean groans and grimaces at the omission, but it's the truth. This was his first real fantasy about his brother. 

               An idea flies behind Sam’s eyes and before he can think better of it, he squirms against the bedsheets and pitches his voice just a little high, something similar to his younger self. “Please touch me, Dean. I promise to be quiet so dad won’t hear us,” and that should fuck this whole thing up because their father, God rest his soul, was dead and thoughts about John Winchester should be far away from what they’re doing here.

                Instead, it punches a moan from Dean like nothing else. “Fuck, Sammy, are you sure?” He’s never considered exploring his old fantasizes like this, acting out the things he didn’t let himself have years ago.  

               Sam is trying to keep himself pinned on the bed, trying to act like his younger self would have in this situation—totally reliant on his big brother to call the shots—and slips his own arm between them to grip his morning erection. He's been hard since this conversation started. “Yea, Dean, please. I'm so sure, look how hard you make me.”

               Dean looks at his brother spread beneath him like he wants to devour him. They’re really going to do this. “I...I don't know, Sam. I can't.”

               "C'mon on Dean. I won't tell," and it's a parody of what he had said to Dean that first night about the kiss. He's stroking himself slowly, making the head wet with pre-come and waking up every inch of his sleepy body. "If we're quiet dad won't even know." Sam feels wrecked at the thought of being caught like this by their _father._

               Dean's head drops slightly and he curses unintelligibly, overcome by the things his little brother is saying. When he looks up he leans forward and snags the bottle of lube off the nightstand where it had been relocated last night. He drizzles it over Sam's slow-pumping fist first and praises, "you look so hot. Get yourself worked up for me Sammy, want to watch you jerk off."

               Sam whines and bites his lip, struggling to keep his hand moving at a teasing pace. He doesn't want this to be over before it starts. "Want to watch you, too," he gasps.   
  
               Dean's mouth is parted when he lubes himself up and starts stroking his cock, notices Sammy is watching him work the head. "You like it?" His green eyes are moving across Sam's body, admiring how much bigger his brother is now, as an adult, compared to the lithe thing he fell in love with over ten years ago.

               Sam nods once then croaks, "yea."

               "You know what to do with it, Sammy?" Lube and precome drips off his dick and hand, falling on his brother below him like hot little scars.  

               Sam licks his lips, “tell me what to do." 

            “Want me to teach you how to take my dick?” Dean grips Sam’s long, muscular thigh. He looks his brother in the eye and rubs the head of his cock down the inside of Sam’s thigh as he strokes himself slowly. There’s enough lube over both of them to slick the way until the warm spongy head is rubbing against Sam’s premium. 

              Sam jerks his head and his face burns. He's channeling all the emotions that had been bubbling inside him at fifteen and sixteen and seventeen and fucking twenty one, every time he had to watch someone else take a shot at his brother and felt desperate for just  _one chance._ “Yes,” he gasps and his spine jumps, raising him up off the bed. "Yea, Dean, teach me how to make you feel good."

              Dean growls and fucks against Sam’s body where it won’t give, torturing them both when he says, “not yet, roll over for me.”

              Sam groans in discontent, but if they were going for authenticity this was it. If Sam had ever convinced Dean to go for it when they were much younger, he would have never gone straight to sodomizing his little brother. He whines, “I can take it Dean, c’mon.” Sam would have insisted on more.

              “Trust me. Roll over and hold your thighs together.” Dean had got off to the idea of fucking between his little brother’s thighs too many times. Even in his fantasies, the idea of actually taking Sam’s young ass had been too much and Dean never actively engaged in that idea, but he let himself imagine slicking up Sam’s thighs and sliding between them—

               Sam agreed without much more fuss and rolled over a second later. He can imagine what his body looks like, stripped bare, flushed skin, miles of firm muscle and long legs. “Like this?” He asked, voice unsure, as he held his torso up a few inches by leaning on his forearms and tensed his thighs just enough to hold them close.  

               “Yea, fuck Sammy, just like that.” Dean growls from over his brother’s prone form and drizzles more lube between Sam’s ass cheeks, and down between the soft clench of his thighs. They were going to ruin this bed. The lighting in the room is still phosphorescent yellow, soft, and the arousal is doing things to his head. He can imagine his brother, younger, laying out like this for him. So trusting and willing, sweet and eager to please. “You gonna let me ride between your thighs and come on your ass, Sammy?” He rubs the head of his dick against Sam’s plump ass cheek, watches it smear lube across his skin and it’s obscene.

                Sam hisses and tries to remember not to open his legs and demand Dean _fuck him already._ This was better than therapy and Jesus, does Dean need to act this out, so instead Sam whimpers— “yea Dean. Want you to come on me.”

                Dean groans and settles between his brother’s narrowly open knees to lean over his tight thighs. “You’re so fucking hot, Sam, those long legs,” Dean pants as he holds his dick steady and thrusts forward. He watches his dick slide between his brother’s thighs, watches the soft meat of his legs give and pull as he moves in and back.

                Sam’s never done _this,_ exactly. He’s never laid down and let someone rut between his legs. The act had seemed exhausting and pointless, _why not just have sex?_ He also considered it one-sided. He wasn’t getting much friction on his own hard dick trapped between his stomach and the mattress, but he could feel his brother’s hard length gliding between his thighs and hear Dean groaning next to his ear. The idea that Dean would _use_ him like this made his head swim. It’s all he ever wanted, for Dean to _take_ and lose himself and get off using Sam however he wanted. Then, every other slide would bring his brother’s dick deeper and _that—_ “Nhh, fuck don’t stop.” He gripped the bedsheets next to his face and ground his ass back.

                “Fuck,” Dean swore as the head of his dick slipped and pressed against the taut opening of Sam’s hole.

                “Ah,” the younger hunter gasped and tried to press back to repeat the sensation. His body is over sensitive from the rhythmic pounding of his brother’s hard, slick cock fucking against him. “Do that again, felt so good, shit,” and the surprised amazement in his voice is no act. He wasn’t expecting to actually get off on this, but Christ he really might come from Dean grinding between his thighs and rubbing against his asshole.

                “You feel that?” Dean grabs his brother’s ass with both hands and pulls the muscular globes apart enough to watch his dick slide between them. “I’m going to get you wet and ready to take all of it, every inch.”

                Sam has started to shake underneath his brother and his body is buzzing with the kind of confusing pleasure that took him by surprise the first time he realized what his dick was for. He can’t think straight, can’t form a coherent sentence; he’s gasping open mouthed into the sheets and each slick, hot, thrust from Dean feels like it will push him over the edge.

               The older hunter growls at the sight below him. “Ever had someone touch you here, Sam?” He presses more firmly against Sam’s sensitive hole.

                Sam’s face is flushed, forehead grinding into the sheets, and sweat is springing up from every pore mixing with lube and pre-come, making them slip and slide. “No,” he sobs out and maybe that’s not true _now,_ but he always wanted Dean to be his first and this is a role-play. “I’ve never— _Dean, shit,_ ” he gasps and fuck, he feels like a virgin.

                The older hunter groans and takes himself in hand, working the based while he pumps the head of his dick against Sam’s ass cheek and little pink furl. “I’m going to come on you and then I’m going to pump a load in you, Sammy. Inside and out, gonna be covered in my come.”

               Sam can’t see his brother behind him but he can hear the slippery wet sound of Dean’s fist around his own dick and the gravely possessiveness in his tone. “Yes, yes, fuck Dean I want it so bad, fucking come on me.”

               Dean’s other hand digs into Sam’s ass almost painfully as he strips his dick faster. He feels it seize up his shoulders and then his entire body spasm with it— “yea yea, ah, _fuck_!” He throws his head back and bares his teeth at the world that conspired to keep this from him by way of taboo. He watches himself shoot his load all over his brother, vision blurring around the edges.

               Sam moans with him when he feels the warm splash of come hit his ass cheek in thick streams, drip down to his already tender hole, and between his thighs. He whines again and grinds back against Dean’s still hard dick, begging for friction.

               “Holy shit, that’s so hot,” Dean was panting as he leaned back on his haunches, still rubbing the sensitive head of his cock into his brother’s ass with one hand and holding Sam open with the other. It was filthy and kinky and Dean had never felt so possessive of a partner before.

               “Hmmpf,” Sam groaned into the bedsheets and pitched his hips enough to get his knees under him. “Dean, fucking tease, you better fuck me I swear to _God—_ ” he was shut up when his brother grabbed him by the hips and pulled him back.

               Dean laughs breathily and Sam folds at the knees, leaning his back against Dean’s chest. “Thank you,” he rumbles into Sam’s ear and wraps his arms around his brother. He can feel their hearts hammering through two rib cages as if they were trying to get to one another. “I’ve wanted to do that for way too damn long.” He kisses Sam neck and takes his brother erection in hand to reward him for the kinkiest sex he’s ever had.

               Sam cries out, something between a moan and a whine and he’s so hard the slick, warm hand almost feels painful. He slides his knees father apart, “fucking finger me, I need— _ah_!”

               Every inch of them is slippery with come and lube and sweat and Dean easily slips one finger between his brother’s spread legs while he pumps Sam’s dick. His face hangs over the other man’s shoulder, looks down at the magnificent cock in his right hand. His left hand works into his brother from behind, pressing in slow and careful but deep. “I’m going to work you over so many times, Sammy, you have no idea.” He sounds like sin itself.

               “Oh my God,” Sam chokes and his hands fly up to grip his brother’s short hair. It’s the only thing he can do to ground himself before he’s coming, one finger up his ass and three solid strokes on his dick. “F- _fuck!_ ”

               Sam is still coming, ropey pearls spilling over his brother’s fist and up his own chest, when Dean pushed him face down into the bed. His ass is in the air, bent at the knees, and Dean’s twisting in a second finger, rubbing him from the inside. “So tight, Sammy.” 

               It’s then that the younger hunter realizes that Dean plans to make up for ten years of wasted time in marathon sex that should be impossible at their ages. He is so down for that. Sam moans shamelessly and keeps his ass tipped high, exhales to relax, give his brother _everything._

               “Like seeing you covered in my come,” Dean admits and rubs one palm over his brother’s ass before he smacks it, solid and hot under his hand.

               Sam jumps and groans, mostly past being able to talk at this point. When Dean kisses and licks the inflamed skin his legs shake. He’s over stimulated and blood seems to be rushing everywhere but his brain right now because he doesn’t have the words to tell his brother that Dean’s likely to kill him.

               The older hunter works his fingers, now three wide, along his brother’s insides. He bends his fingers just so and finds the swollen nub that gets Sam moaning like a whore. Dean has never felt more powerful. “How soon do you think you can come, Sammy? You’re still hard, fuck, your dick’s still leaking come and you’re so fucking hard. You gonna give it up again, hu?” He’s rubbing and grabbing Sam’s ass cheek with his other hand, occasionally dipping down to tug lightly at his heavy sac.

               “Nugh,” Sam grits his teeth and the muscles in his arms lock up in his downward dog position. “Dean, fuck, Dean!”

               “Oh yea,” Dean laughs deep, sexy, confident, and he _knows_ his brother is about to come on his fingers. He wrestled the bottle of lube from the soiled bed sheets and pumps another dollop into Sam’s crack to get it slick and easy. “That’s it, c’mon Sammy,” Dean coaxes in a tone too gentle for this moment but it works because his brother takes one deep breath and on his next exhale Sam is coming again.

               Sam hasn’t come back to back like this since he was at Sanford, and _fucking hell_ Dean is already climbing on top of him. He doesn’t have enough sense or self-preservation to ask for a time out, and instead moans thoughtlessly and arches his back. There will never be a time when they’ve had enough giving and taking from each other—blood, come, their lives, soul, their bodies. It was all the same; the lines were never real.  

               Dean must be able to sense that his brother won’t fair very long holding himself up and puts Sam on his side. He maneuvers them so that they are spooning and holds his brother’s legs open while he slides in, easy as anything after all the prep and orgasms.

               —“ _Fuck!”_ They both groan when Dean slides in, bottoming out in one smooth move.

               “Sammy, fuck, baby,” Dean growls and gets one arm under his brother’s head to offer some support. The other hand grips Sam’s thigh, holding him open enough so he can grind them together. He moves his hips leisurely, like he could fuck Sam for hours.

               Sam feels like he hasn’t caught his breath since Dean was riding between his thighs three orgasms ago and now he’s near delirious, gripping the headboard at an awkward angle to get some leverage on his brother’s thrusts. This position, even after all the prep and fingering and lube, makes things tighter and he can feel every ridge and twitch of his brother inside him.  

               Dean kisses the other man’s exposed neck and doesn’t try to reallocate a hand between Sam’s legs. “You told me to fuck you open with my pretty wet cock, Sammy.” He reminds his brother as he rolls his hips in a steady pace that whites them both out. “Is this how you wanted it?”

               _It’s better,_ Sam thinks feverishly. “So good, Dean, you feel so good.” He knew half the women between 18 and 45 in the continental United States couldn’t be wrong. Dean Winchester, sex god.

               Dean gets the hand under Sam’s head curled around his neck and holds him gently, cradles him like Sam’s an infant that still needs the extra support. He makes his brother look at him, “you’re so much braver than me.” He’s so close to Sam’s face he can see the way his breath makes his brother’s bangs tremble. “You knew, you always knew and I—” regret that would just sour the moment started to rise up.

               A wince of _pleasurepain_ has marred Sam’s face when he cranes his head to kiss his brother on the mouth. “It’s OK,” another kiss and Dean hasn’t stopped pumping into his brother’s body. Sam gasps, “fuck Dean I love you. It’s OK.” _I forgive you._ Dean hears everything his brother says and doesn’t say and picks up the pace, rolls his hips in short, fast, thrusts that makes Sam’s voice hitch on each breathy moan—" _ah, ah, ah!”_

               “Fuck you open and come inside you,” Dean promises into his brother’s ear and comes inside him, rides out his orgasm until Sam is whimpering and squirming on his dick.

iiXoXii

               Sometime later Sam wakes up on his stomach and feels a warm washcloth being gently pressed into the tender skin of his thighs. His arms are pillowing his own head and he immediately feels dehydrated.

               “There’s a bottle of water on the night stand,” Dean says in way of a command, _drink it,_ and continues to bathe his brother. He takes his time and he’s almost reverent in the way he goes over finger-shaped bruises up and down Sam’s thigh and ass.

               Sam doesn’t open his eyes when he swipes the bottle from the night stand and drains most of it in a few pulls. He was really thirsty. His brother has started to massage the knots out of his legs, thighs, and even over his ass and lower back. “Hmm, that feel so good.”

               “You’re covered in bruises, man.” Dean complains, as if it Sam’s fault.

               “Have you _seen_ your neck?” Sam asks flatly. He doesn’t have the energy for much else.

               Dean rubs the bite mark fondly. He hadn’t forgotten about it, and honestly, he didn’t regret peppering his baby brother’s thighs and ass with bruises, either. “We’re a mess,” he observes with a smirk.

               “Hot mess,” Sam agrees out of the corner of his mouth. It’s around 9 am and they should really be looking for breakfast by now, but hell. Dean wore him out.

               The older hunter shifts on the bed and Sam thinks he might be getting up to find them something to eat, but instead Dean lays his face down over the dip of Sam’s back. “I owe you one more thing, remember?”

               _I want you to pull out while I’m still swollen and sore and your come is dripping out. I want you to stick your fingers inside me. I want you to feel it, feel what I am without you—fucked and empty._

               Sam’s eyes spring open. “Have you been snorting Viagra, or something? There is _no_ way I can come again.” He twists around to glare at his brother, who is sliding his finger through come that is still steadily leaking out of Sam’s sore little ass. The rim is red and puffy, tender, and Sam feels like giving himself to Dean, anyway.

               They’re still staring at each other, more heat in their eyes than what should be possible after all they’ve done, as Dean slips one slender finger inside. Sam’s chin tips back involuntarily at the sensation. After having three fingers and then his brothers dick pumping in and out, a single finger feels like gentle death.

               “I don’t want to make you feel fucked and empty again,” Dean says low and intimate, as if the awful room décor could overhear them. He thrusts his finger slow and shallow, not trying to get either of them off but just enjoying having his brother hooked on him, wet and hot and easy.

               “I don’t,” Sam promises with wide eyes and curses his half hard cock. There is _no way._

               Dean grins and kisses his brother on the hip, “good.” He makes Sam come once more before they get breakfast.

**Author's Note:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RSmgTf_LkJs  
> This is a link to the song, The Origin of Love.


End file.
